[private] all the kings horses, all the kings men [M]

[Ashley]

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ASHLEY

“If you think you’re going anywhere with her, you have another thing coming.”

His approach had been silent. Sure. The ginger Irish hybrid stallion looked at the throng, and nodded to Sabrael. The others were of little to no consequence. A black and red no-one. A red-headed man from his mother’s homeland—with the ability to imbibe with the rest of them, and to coax his mates (or enemies) to do the same. But he was taking one too many liberties with the precious cargo he had hoisted upon his back. Ashley pinned his ears to his head, his amber eyes siding with the dragon—this was going to end exactly one way.

Ashley’s eyes slid over Wallace’s frail form. Inside, his guts were roiling. He had done this. His lesson. It had been too subtle. He should have been forthwright. He should have prevented this. He should have protected her.

Damn.

He walks over to where Reilly was preparing to slink away with his prize. Good intentions to be sure—but however pure, Wallace needed to go home. Ashley’s eyes race over Wallace, grimacing at her wounds. His warm breath rolls over her and he approaches her head, and whispers into her ears softly, words sticky sweet like warm honey. “Ashley’s here, Darling Wallace. We will make this better.” He noses down her neck, encouraging her mane and ail to grow back—thick and luxurious. The scars—they would stay, but as Ashley rolls down her body with his head, he wills the scars to change—more intricate, delicately knitting flowers and birds and little berries into the workings upon her hide—like a beautiful tattoo against the memories. She is weak, but Ashley hopes that she will approve when she is strong again. She is beautiful to him. She always has been.

And he should have told her so long before now.

Behind them, the black and red stallion is pissed drunk, knee deep into his cups and pushing into himself into a tree, constantly trying to knock it over. It seems as if he keeps trying to go down a hole at its base, insisting that he was a bunny. With fangs. Sad.

Ashley shakes his head at the fool, and is brought back to his mission. He returns to Wallace’s ear and whispers again. “It’s Ashley again. Sabrael and I will take you home. You will be protected. I will never let anyone touch you again. I promise.”

His voice was terse—his commands; truncated. “Put. Her. Down.” He is matter of fact. Angry.

“You will give her to me at once and leave this place. I thank you for your assistance, and if you wish to see to her welfare, you can see for yourself on the island Ischia. But she needs to go home now.”

The one who did this would die.

and the girls caressed me down ughhh that's that lovin' sound

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